


The Lion at Starfall

by dragonspell



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2855675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen, though he was only a seventh son and unlikely to inherit the throne of Redding, had a reputation that had spread to the surrounding countries.  He was fearsome in battle, they said, and nigh invincible, the drumming sound of his mount at full gallop enough to strike terror in a grizzled soldier's heart.  He'd been awarded the title of Dancer at age 23, one of eight titles given to only the strongest and most true of heart by the warrior monks of the Damascus Mountains.   Jared had asked for Prince Jensen’s hand in marriage years ago, smitten by the legends and the reports of the man's beauty.  His offer had been returned unread and unwanted.  It was ironic that it had taken a badly battered army and the threat of extinction to achieve what all of Jared's riches had not.  Jared would have what all that he wanted and Redding would have nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lion at Starfall

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【翻译】The Lion at Starfall/星落之处雄狮起](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7775416) by [LittleEvil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleEvil/pseuds/LittleEvil), [WincestJ2CN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WincestJ2CN/pseuds/WincestJ2CN)



The joint tribes of Redding were a proud people and warriors to the last, but they'd had no hope of winning the war. For all their vaunted skills and fearsome reputations, they simply couldn't compete with the vast resources of Milecki and even their fool of a king had eventually seen that. He'd thought that the flowing wealth of the marketplaces had somehow made Milecki soft. Jared’s armies had proved him wrong. 

It had been Redding that had made the first attack, slaughtering border guards down in the Summer Valleys and, as such, Jared had driven a hard bargain for peace. His people wanted vengeance and Jared would not be able to assuage them with mere platitudes. He had demanded tribute of the very best the Redding had to offer: gold, jewels, horses, weapons. It would be poor comfort to those left bereft but it was all Jared could offer. Peace was in the best interests of both nations.

A fortnight later, the tribute now filled the throne room, most contained in heavy chests that were hand-delivered and stacked high by a small accompaniment of Redding's finest. There were hardly enough men to win a skirmish let alone mount a coup, and many would have assumed that the soldiers, with their ornately etched armor and tall, broad builds, were just for show—Redding's last bit of pride refusing to bend—but they would be wrong. Jared knew better, just as he knew that their mounts, left out in the stable, were jet black and danced rather than walked. The soldiers had not arrived with the chests: they had arrived with Prince Jensen, seventh son of King Alan of Redding, Commander of the Third Battalion, Dancer of the West Winds, and soon to be Royal Consort of the Kingdom of Milecki, Protector of the Seven Lands. Jared's face stayed impassive, but his heart pounded louder than thunder.

Jensen, though he was only a seventh son and unlikely to inherit the throne of Redding, had a reputation that had spread to the surrounding countries. He was fearsome in battle, they said, and nigh invincible, the drumming sound of his mount at full gallop enough to strike terror in a grizzled soldier's heart. He'd been awarded the title of Dancer at age 23, one of eight titles given to only the strongest and most true of heart by the warrior monks of the Damascus Mountains. He was the youngest man to ever be awarded such an honor. 

Jared had asked for Prince Jensen’s hand in marriage years ago, smitten by the legends and the reports of the man's beauty. Surely such a prince would be worthy of ruling beside a king. Jared had been willing to trade just about anything as well, much to his advisors’ dismay. In his original proposal, he’d worked himself up to offering half the treasury and full fleets of ships. Luckily for his advisors’ health, Sir Roger had ripped the paper in twain before Jared could even sign his name and had called him twice a fool. Unfortunately, however, all Jared had learned was not to let others see the offer before he had a chance to make it, though he did manage to scale himself back to more reasonable terms on his second attempt. 

His offer had been returned unread and unwanted, the wax seal with the rearing horses still intact, and Jared had known then that no amount of promised wealth would convince King Alan to part with his favored son. Alan had kept Jensen close at hand and Jared had reluctantly accepted the rejection. He liked to imagine that several such nobles had done the same as him, and all had been equally rejected. Of course, he also liked to think that no one came close to matching his offer.

It was just ironic that it had taken a badly battered army and the threat of extinction to achieve what all of Jared's riches had not. In exchange for Jensen's hand, Jared had offered the Summer Valleys, the disputed lands between their two borders whose rich soil Redding so coveted. Jared wondered what the people of Redding would say if they knew what their king had refused, preferring to waste their lives trying to take the land by force instead. In consequence, Jared would have what all that he wanted and Redding would have nothing. 

Jared stood as the soldiers delivered the last chest, ready to accept his tribute as custom demanded. He waited on the dais, using it to add to his already impressive height. There was an anticipation thrumming through his body that he had only felt on the battlefield before now. He clenched his fists to stop their excited trembling, knowing that he was to appear calm and disciplined regardless of what happened. Around him, the courtesans whispered their rumors and plots but Jared paid them no mind. Their talk was an insect’s buzzing: annoying and unimportant.

The Redding soldiers formed a line of polished steel, facing the throne with admirable meticulousness. They waited, frozen like mountain ice, and Jared let the moment drag on. Good things, he assured himself, came to those who were patient. His anticipation was a living thing inside of him, now, writhing and threatening to overwhelm him: the culmination of years of waiting. The tall throne room doors opened once more and a hush fell about the room, saving for the steady clank of approaching armor. With the same pinpoint precision, the soldiers parted their line, angling towards the center where a solitary man stepped forward.

Jared’s breath left him and refused to return.

The man’s armor was an onyx black, intricately engraved, and it shone like the night sky, the skylights’ streaming sun serving as flaring stars on the polished metal. The prince’s hair was short, cropped close to his head to ensure few handholds on the battlefield should he lose his helmet, and his shoulders were broad, perfectly filling his armor as the guards winged out into sharp points. He wore a black cloak, silver etched along the clasp as due his station, and surely he was a god, descended from the heavens. Jared swallowed, drawn to the man’s uncovered face, visually devouring the smooth lines, the plush lips, and the eyes that promised hard-won victories. It was as if Jared were a young man of twenty all over again. He was smitten.

Jensen of Redding stood proudly in the throne room of Starfall palace, crowning jewel of Milecki’s capital city with its spiraling towers and gilded curves, and put it all to shame with just a look. The moment he met Jared’s eyes, the wealth and extravagance whisked away, leaving Jared with nothing but the man before him. Time ceased.

With a flick of his wrist, Jensen smoothly released the clasp of his cloak, letting the heavy fabric cascade to the floor like a night-filled waterfall. He kept Jared’s eyes as his fingers moved to the buckles of his belt, a blatant challenge that had Jared’s blood singing with the desire to answer it. Freed from its cinch, Jensen’s sheathed sword plummeted towards the floor but was caught inches from the stone tiles by Jensen’s quick hand and gently lowered. Jensen bent at the knees, reverently relinquishing his sword to the ground and when he stood again, Jared had to remind himself to exhale, for he knew now what was coming. Two soldiers stepped to Jensen’s side, quickly freeing the straps that held the armor against Jensen’s body. 

It was a ritual among the Redding people, a rite performed for the victors by the vanquished, signaling total and complete surrender. There had been a chance that, with Milecki far removed from Redding ways, Jensen would have opted to forgo the formality, already vulnerable enough in the foreign land. Jensen was proud; he had never before bent his knee to any lord but his father; surely he would desire the armor to protect him from Jared’s unfamiliar eyes and the tittering of the court. Jared would expect no less; he himself would most likely not be brave enough to carry through with the ritual if their roles were reversed. He had memorized the ceremony on a whim, however, as his fantasies had run away with him during his more self-indulgent and languorous moments. It had also occurred to him that Jensen, a noble warrior from an ancient line, would cleave to his traditions—they gave him strength. 

The polished black shoulder guards were lowered to the floor, and the whispering of the court reached a new crescendo but Jensen did not waver from his icy stare and Jared could not look away. The chest plate was next, reverently pulled away to reveal chain mail. The gauntlets and greaves followed, until Jensen stood in nothing but chain links and the soft clothes underneath. Then the chain mail was lifted, heavy poundage leaving Jensen’s body. If anything, Jensen stood straighter—even disarmed, unamored, he was still more capable than half of Jared’s men. 

The soldiers stepped away and Jared scanned his memory for the ritual words but before he could utter them, he realized that Jensen was not done. With a quick, efficient motion, Jensen grabbed the hem of his tunic and pulled it over his head. He dropped it to the floor and Jared could do little more than stare as his undershirt soon followed. Jensen pulled off his boots, his pants, his small clothes, stripping until he was standing completely naked in front of Jared, vulnerable and yet not. The challenge was still in Jensen’s eyes.

Gasps filled the room, the ladies tittering, while Jared reminded himself that he was of noble blood. He would see this through with dignity. Jensen picked up his sword and unsheathed it before he knelt and held up the beautifully crafted weapon to Jared like an offering. Only then did he bow his head.

Jared didn’t know where to look first. He followed the gleaming line of the sword, fine Redding steel, then the strong, muscled lines of Jensen’s arms across to his shoulders and down his belly, his legs, to the soft, nearly hidden parts on display. Jared forced himself to return to the sword and finally left the dais, approaching Jensen’s prone form.

The sword was one of the finest that Jared had ever seen, exquisitely made and perfectly balanced as Jared accepted it. “I take this as my own,” he said, catching the minute shiver along Jensen’s shoulders. Jensen hadn’t expected him to know the ritual words. Of course, why would he? Many in Milecki scorned Redding traditions as barbaric and outdated. “I accept this offering and find it pleasing." _More than pleasing,_ Jared thought. 

Jensen stood then, naked and proud before the amassed courtiers. Sly innuendoes whispered through the air, crude and insulting from what Jared could catch, and a queer sort of protectiveness overwhelmed Jared. Jensen had more honor than any other and Jared would not stand for this. Jensen, after all, was to be his and no one else had the right to look. He passed the sword off to Roger, who’d stepped to his side the moment that he’d beckoned, and then retrieved Jensen’s heavy cloak from the floor. He wrapped it around Jensen’s shoulders, covering him from all the other eyes in the room. Jensen was his and his alone, Jared vowed. The proud prince might have come to him as a war offering but Jared would make their marriage a happy one. Jared pitched his voice lower, sharing the words only to Jensen. "I take this as my own. I accept this offering and find it pleasing." 

Jensen swallowed and lowered his eyes. He was Jared’s.

* * *

Jared leaned forward against the railing of the balcony that encircled the training arena, the wood solid and sunwarmed beneath his hands. He went mostly unnoticed as he looked down at the assembled crowd, only his personal guard and a few of his captains knowing of his presence. It was unusual and bemusing but, he thought, understandable. Not many in Milecki had ever had the honor of meeting a Dancer, let alone seen one perform, Jared included. It was something that a man had a hard time looking away from.

Jensen swirled and spun, thrusted and parried in a way that seemed as if his feet never touched the hard packed dirt at all, instead appearing to glide through the air itself. He had been loaned one of the wooden practice swords, not quite trusted with a metal weapon yet, but he wielded it as if it were the perfectly forged weapon he had surrendered to Jared. His hands expertly moved the wood through a series of precise, set routines, looking as deadly as a lion upon the plain.

Some of the younger, brasher recruits stood as close as they dared, their fingers upon the hilts of their swords, no doubt eager to test their skills, to see how well they could fare against such an accomplished opponent. Lasting even a few minutes in the ring with the Dancer of the West Winds would gain them any number of drinks down in the city taverns. Jared was sure that it was only the fact that Jensen was also the personal property of their king that kept them back as, to many, the bruises would be worth it.

Jared wondered if they’d think the same of a broken arm or leg—a just as likely result from facing down the pacing predator that Jensen was.

A slight sheen of sweat had collected upon Jensen’s skin, making him glisten in the sun. Jared saw that Jensen had taken advantage of the wardrobe provided for him and he approved. The clothes had been specially made for Jensen, fitted as close to his measurements as possible, with a mind towards the warrior fashions. Jensen had chosen the sleeveless leather shell that many Milecki soldiers favored for practicing their swordplay. The close-fitting hide served as better protection than a woven shirt, guarding against potential bruising, while the style allowed for a wider range of movement than heavy armor.

This was the first time Jared had seen Jensen since the man had stood naked in his presence in the throne room. Jared wasn’t disappointed; Jensen was every bit as impressive as Jared had remembered. He’d given the prince time to adjust to his new surroundings, acquiescing to Jensen’s request to not join him for dinner, and allowing him to stay in his rooms for as long as he pleased. Jared had sent Evelyn with a letter, welcoming Jensen to the Starfall and Evelyn had reported that it had been opened at the very least, even if Jensen still kept his own counsel. Their relationship was not off to a good start, but they still had time. The wedding was still a few months off.

It had been two days after Jensen’s arrival before he had ventured out into the castle proper, judging by the servants’ whisperings. Four days before Jensen had found the training fields and another three before he had done more than observe. Sir Peter, the Captain of Arms, had sent a messenger to Jared that his bride had taken the field and Jared had immediately pushed away Harrel and Wresting. Paperwork and accounting would always be waiting—seeing Prince Jensen of Redding, the Dancer of the West Winds in action, was a once in a lifetime opportunity and Jared had been waiting for years. Jensen had been ever bit as beautiful as the reports had claimed and Jared had known that the claims of Jensen’s battle prowess would prove to be no less true. 

Jared was as excited as the young squires squirming with impatience and brashness. He rolled his hips to the side to ease the tightness in his underclothes and acknowledged that perhaps he was even more like the teenage boys below than he’d thought. With a sword in his hand, Jensen was a god in physical form, a work of art and one that Jared wanted to touch and make his own.

Jensen was focused on his task, not acknowledging the chaos surrounding him. He most likely didn’t want to. Living in Starfall Palace was quite the change, Jared knew, and most likely hard for Jensen’s pride to swallow as well. Through necessity, Jensen’s movements about the palace were being heavily monitored and Jared knew that if it were him, he would not take the constant hovering well, either. He’d given Jensen one of the finest rooms in Starfall, as befitting Jensen’s position, and hoped that Jensen was pleased with the room at least. Jared made a mental note to ask Jensen later, maybe over dinner if Jensen would be so kind as to join him tonight. Jared lived in hope as Jensen had finally emerged from his seclusion.

The thought of perhaps getting a chance to talk with the longtime object of his affections, brought a smile to Jared’s face. His childish fantasies were running wild again, as quick on the heels of the idea of talking with Jensen came other, more sinful thoughts on what else he could do with Jensen. A man that moved so incredibly well in battle surely had something to recommend him in the bedroom. Jared stored the ideas for later use.

Jensen kept shifting from one pose to another and Jared could watch his fluid movements all day, lost in the effortlessly smooth glide. However, there was something else he wanted more. The knight behind him frowned as Jared handed him his heavy, kingly robe. “Sir?” Jared waved him off.

A murmur rippled through the crowd as Jared stepped upon the arena ground. He’d shed his robe and crown and had wrapped a leather shell around his torso in order to step out on to the field not as a sovereign ruler, but as an equal. Jared shook out his arms. He pushed through the crowd easily, the soldiers stepping aside and bowing as he walked past, and made his way to the rack of practice swords. Across the ring, Peter silently asked if he was mad, his brows furling downward, but Jared waved him off as well. Though it might be suicide to step onto the field with a Dancer under normal circumstances, Jared would survive this; Jensen had offered himself and Jared took him at his word. Jared’s only wish now was to last longer than one of the new recruits would. 

The noise of the crowd increased as Jared selected a weapon and stepped into the center. He caught snippets of their disbelief and anticipation and his lips curled upward. As the murmur turned into a roaring buzz, Jensen stilled, slipping from his reverie. He watched Jared’s approach with a wariness that once again reminded Jared of a prowling lion.

Jared stopped in front of Jensen, taking a moment to appreciate Jensen’s beauty once more, studying the strength in the hard set of his jaw and the lethal potential promised in his restrained posture. He raised his sword. “If I may?” he asked, his smile widening as Jensen’s eyebrows rose.

Jensen considered his offer for a moment before raising his weapon to answer Jared’s. “As you wish,” he said. It was the first time Jared had ever heard his voice. It was as pleasing as the rest of him.

They slowly circled each other, the noise of the crowd falling away into nothingness as Jared focused on only the man in front of him. Jared allowed a small smile to touch his lips as he felt excitement build inside of him. It had been awhile since he had found someone worthy to challenge him, ever since he had been crowned and Roger had started turn him down for practice bouts. Something about how it wasn’t fitting for the Captain of the King’s Guard to be swinging a sword at the king he was sworn to protect.

Jensen was a caged lion, pacing the edge of the ring. His feet never faltered and Jared spent a few more moments admiring him before he realized that not only was Jensen not attacking, but that he never would. Jensen was waiting for Jared to take the first strike. Jared chuckled at his momentary lapse and shrugged his shoulders, causing Jensen to pause, no doubt wondering what Jared was laughing at. Jared gave him a nod and lunged, a powerful strike from the shoulders, fully broadcasted and worthy of an opening move.

As expected, Jensen effortlessly dodged it, leaning back to miss the swing, and then danced to the side and waited with his sword up, not moving again. Jared smiled at him. Jensen looked sunkissed and beautiful, some heavenly creature who deigned to walk upon the earth. Jared wanted to muss him, just a little. Jared swung again, this time quicker and followed it with a return as he advanced.

Jensen ducked under the first swing and blocked the second with his sword before letting the momentum carry him over to Jared’s right and when Jared met his eyes again, there was a grudging respect there that made Jared’s blood sing. Jared thrust his sword forward and followed it up with a few steps that brought him in close, forcing Jensen to dodge again and swirl away like a dancer. It was little wonder he had been given such a title.

Once, when he was younger and his older brother had still been alive, Jared had entertained ideas about traveling to Damascus. He wondered now if anything would have come of it, if somewhere and some time that there might have been an alternate Jared of Milecki, who swirled and danced with deadly efficiency on the battlefield.

And if he might have loved a man dressed all in black that did the same.

Jared swung his sword in arcs, followed by thrusts as he drove Jensen back and across the ring. Jensen was still not attacking, preferring to dodge and move out of Jared’s way and Jared vowed that if nothing else, he would force Jensen to take a swing. Sweat started to drip down his face, but Jared didn’t dare take a moment to wipe it away. Regardless if Jensen wasn’t attacking, an obvious drop in Jared’s guard like that might be too much for the predator in Jensen to ignore.

Sweat stung Jared’s eyes and he blinked it away. That was all it took. He found himself on the defensive, holding his sword up and ceding ground as Jensen finally pressed his advantage. Again and again the wooden sword came at Jared, every connection with Jared’s own sounding a large, reverberating thwack that vibrated through Jared’s arms. Jared didn’t have Jensen’s seemingly endless agility, having to rely more on sheer power and reach to keep himself upright, and Jensen exploited every weakness Jared had. Jensen was _everywhere_ , his dancing feet taking him around and around Jared until Jared felt more like a twirling ballerina than a warrior.

Jared struck out, cutting Jensen short and forcing him back, and they broke apart. Jared went down and to the ready, determined to not let Jensen have another easy opening. He might lose this match, but he was going to make Jensen work for it. When they met each other’s eyes again, though, Jensen was smiling. It was beautiful and predatory and Jared couldn’t quite find his breath. He was hard. Oh, was he ever hard. He wanted.

Right here, in front of Peter and the gods and everyone, he wanted Jensen. He had never seen anyone as perfect as Jensen.

Jensen swirled forward, his body like a force of nature and one last wooden crack echoed across the arena as Jared felt the practice sword wrenched from his hands. He instinctively followed the momentum and saw the sword arcing into the crowd, then felt a blunt point press against his neck. When he looked back, Jensen was standing regally above him, his smile not demanding Jared’s surrender but instead merely informing Jared of his loss, and Jared felt his heart skip a beat.

Without a second thought, Jared batted the practice sword away and moved into Jensen’s personal space. Jensen’s eyes widened and he took a step backward, but Jared didn’t let him get far. Jared grabbed Jensen’s face with both hands and pressed a kiss to Jensen’s inviting lips, putting all the passion of the bout into it. He wanted to give Jensen everything that he had, wanted him to know how much Jared desired him, how much Jared would seek to please him if only given the chance.

Jensen stood still in Jared’s grip for a long moment, neither fighting nor participating but merely accepting. Then, he moved. His lips pushed gently against Jared’s own, soft and inviting, and Jared sighed. He had dreamed of this moment for years. There was nothing that mattered besides him and Jensen and the slow slide of their lips against one another. Jared tilted his head and let his tongue flicker against Jensen’s sweet mouth, wanting everything that Jensen would allow him. Obediently, Jensen parted his lips and offered Jared entry, his own tongue licking against Jared’s before slipping away. He held himself ready and open, but made no further move, just as he had been on the battlefield—humoring Jared but taking it no further unless he was made to do so. It made Jared pause, reality slipping through the fog of dreams.

Jared broke off the kiss and studied Jensen’s face. There was no passion, simply an impassive wall, a warrior’s visage meant for battle, and Jared cursed himself as a fool. Of course. Jensen was accepting Jared’s advances as part the terms of surrender and not as how Jared would like. What other reason would Jensen have?

“Sorry,” Jared whispered, his voice low enough to be just for Jensen’s ears, and saw a crack in the façade—a minute furling of Jensen’s brow that betrayed his confusion. He let his thumb rub over Jensen’s face one last time and stepped backward, giving Jensen the space he no doubt desired.

Jared gave Jensen one last long look and then left him there in the center of the arena, still standing like a proud warrior and not the defeated prisoner he most likely considered himself. Jared felt as if he had stolen something.

* * *

The sun streaming in through the high windows of the royal chamber would be warm on Jared’s skin, but it wouldn’t hold a candle to the heat inside of him or the heat that waited inside of Jensen. Jared would kiss Jensen’s soft lips, making them both wait until Jensen’s warrior nature eventually overtook his finite patience. Jensen would roll them on the bed and force Jared to take more, his tongue licking inside of Jared’s mouth and his hands sliding down Jared’s chest. Used to giving orders and having them followed, Jensen would make demands of Jared that Jared would happily meet.

Then Jared would take over and Jensen would be rough and demanding underneath him, overcome with passion but allowing Jared to take the lead. It would be a struggle to remain on top as Jensen would fight him, but Jared would succeed—not because he was the better fighter but because Jensen wanted him to be there. That would make the victory sweeter, to know how much Jensen wanted him that he would be willing to bend and submit. 

Jensen would gasp and moan beneath him, his hands gripping Jared’s shoulders and he would say things like—

“Your Majesty?”

Jared turned his head toward the voice, pulled out of his fantasies. He sighed at Westing’s expectant look. Right. His wedding night was still months away—possibly further, judging by how well he and his bride were getting along. “Whatever you think is best,” Jared said, not sure what the question had been but knowing that he’d been asked one. “Is there anything else?”

“No, Your Majesty. I shall leave you with your thoughts.” Westing snapped his fingers, calling his servant to gather up the papers that were scattered across Jared’s heavy desk. Jared pushed the closest scrolls away from himself sat back in his chair, giving Ollie room to work.

Jensen had once again refused Jared’s dinner invitation and it had been a day and a half since Jared had last seen him. It was hardly surprising. Jensen was a proud warrior of Redding. Jared didn’t know much of Redding’s traditions, but he did know how he would feel in Jensen’s position. Jensen likely felt powerless and humiliated and under those circumstances, Jared likely wouldn’t want to play nice with his captor and new found husband either. Even if ‘captor’ was the last thing that Jared wanted to be to Jensen. Equal, friend, lover, if Jared was lucky.

The latest dinner invitation had been accompanied by a handful of flowers from the gardens and a letter of apology from Jared that ended with a request for Jensen to write him back. 

“Someday, you’ll give that answer to a question asking you if you would like to give him half the treasury.” Roger shifted, leaning his hip against the sill of the window that he was peering out of.

Jared folded his hands behind his head and stretched, feeling his back crack. He felt as if he’d been chained to the desk for years instead of only the few hours. “And someday, you’ll be brave enough to ask Ledah on a walk around the garden instead of merely spying on her.”

Roger pulled away from the window and crossed his arms across his breastplate. It was the most defensive that Jared had ever seen him, and he’d seen Roger fight off five attackers by himself. “Are you hoping that your Redding prince will give you his heart if you merely wait long enough?”

Jared winced as Roger’s brutal honesty cut through all of his rose-tinted illusions. He and Roger had never held themselves back from stating how they felt around one another. Some days, it was refreshing. Others, not so much. “Is that such a bad thing to want?” 

Jensen had given Jared no sign yet about a possibility of returning Jared’s affections, but that was hardly a reason to stop his efforts, Jared thought. Infatuated butterflies fluttered inside Jared’s stomach whenever he so much as even thought about Jensen. Jared was a helpless thrall, but it was good to feel that way about one’s future spouse. And Jared still had time to see if Jensen would reciprocate his feelings; it was early in their relationship. After all, Jared had had years to be drawn to Jensen’s legend; Jensen likely only had years of whatever his father and the rest of Redding had fed him.

“He just might cut your throat after you bed him,” Roger replied. “An actual lion might be a safer bed partner.”

A small laugh rumbled through Jared’s chest. “Prince Jensen is far more attractive than a lion.”

“Aye,” Roger said. “And far more deadly.” Roger’s hand fell to his sword and he strode from the room, leaving Jared with a truth that Jared had already known. It didn’t deter Jared in the slightest.

* * *

The tapestry stretched from wall to wall of the north wall of the secondary hall. It had been commissioned after the acquisition of Willow River and the surrounding area and had taken the work of hundreds of artisans to complete. It told the story of Milecki’s origin, from the fall of the first star to the founding of the capital city by the legendary king, Zachariah of the Golden Lands, and it was a work of art and a historical account at the same time. Jared could see why it held Jensen’s attention. Jared had grown up with it and he still found himself fascinating by it at times.

Jared had been taken aback to find Jensen waiting for him in the hall, dressed in a richly embroidered vest and apparently ready for dinner, but had gathered himself quickly. Sweeping past the two guards that waited by the doors, he stood beside Jensen with a socially appropriate amount of space between them and folded his hands to keep himself from giving into the urge to touch Jensen the way he longed to. “My grandmother worked on it,” he said. “She was young but quite skilled. She completed this section here.” His finger hovered over King Zachariah marching towards the sea and the fallen star.

“It’s beautiful,” Jensen said and Jared smiled at being allowed to hear the sound of his voice again.

“Yes. It is.” It didn’t, however, hold the fascination for Jared that Jensen’s face did. Jared found himself staring, unable and unwilling to look away. When Jensen caught him in the act, Jared couldn’t even feel shame. He would have the rest of his life to look upon Jensen, but it might just take a lifetime to grow used to the sight. “If it pleases you, Prince Jensen, I would be most honored if you would join me for dinner.”

Jensen nodded his head and Jared ushered him to the table where Evelyn was quietly directing servants in the setting of the dishes and the food. She was efficient and silent when she chose, as her training had prepared her to be. Jensen stood behind his chair and waited for Jared, honoring Redding custom despite being hundreds of miles away from his homeland. Jared bowed his head. He had also read about this when the terms of Redding’s surrender and his marriage to Jensen had been agreed to. “Honored guest,” he said, “I would be much pleased if you would sit at my table.”

“I honor you, my king,” Jensen replied, “and thank you for your generous hospitality.” He gracefully took his seat and looked expectantly at Jared.

Jared searched his mind. He knew that he had another line but he couldn’t remember what it could be. “I…” He trailed off, swallowed, and then tried again when the words drifted back into his mind. “My table is yours. May the gods favor us both.” The ritual done, Jared mixed in a Milecki custom, taking the bottle of wine from the table and pouring Jensen the first glass. “May the gods shine favor upon you,” he murmured, setting the glass in front of Jensen.

Jensen stared at the glass, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip before he remembered himself and closed his mouth again. Jared smiled. “There is no return phrase,” he told him. “You just take a sip.” Jensen’s eyes flicked up to meet Jared’s. “And possibly let the rest of the table know if the wine is worth drinking.” Jared chuckled and poured himself a glass as well. “Unless it’s not and you’re looking for a little bit of hilarity.”

Jensen took a sip and set the glass back down. Jared raised his eyebrows expectantly and inwardly crowed when Jensen honored him with a small smile. “It is quite good.”

“I am glad that you like it.”

“Yes.” Jensen paused, his teeth back at his lip again. “I was hoping that you would permit me a question, Your Majesty.”

Jared smiled broadly. This was going well so far. “Ask me whatever you like, Prince Jensen. And you may call me Jared if you’d like.” It was a terribly intimate thing to request of Jensen, having just arrived in Milecki from tradition-rich Redding, but Jared was hopeful. He wished for there to be no formality between them—only closeness. “It would greatly please me if you would.”

“I was wondering where you learned of Redding traditions?” Evelyn and her assistants circled around the table, placing food upon their plates. Jensen averted his attention to the roll that Evelyn had sat to his left. “Jared.”

Jared ducked his head, feeling his cheeks redden slightly. It was embarrassing to admit now that he was confronted by the very person that he had learned the traditions for. “Ah, we have a few former citizens of Redding now living in Milecki.” He took a steadying sip of wine. “And I may have bought a book that detailed a few.”

“A book?”

“Yes.” Evelyn placed a slice of beef on Jared’s plate and Jared busied himself with cutting it. “It was written by a Sir Wesley? You should try the beef. The cook, I’m told, quite outdid himself today.”

Jensen looked down at his plate and then back at Jared. “Why?” It was blunt and to the point and for a moment, Jared thought that Jensen was asking why the cook had bothered to outdo himself, but then he realized what Jensen was really asking. It didn’t necessarily matter as the answer was one in the same: Jensen. Jensen was the answer to all of Jared’s questions lately. He was surprised he hadn’t told Westing the same instead of his usual pat answer. That was where his head was at least.

Jared carefully set down his silverware, searching for the right words. “I had hoped to…” _impress you_ “please you.” Jensen momentarily froze in place, then dropped his eyes back to his plate.

“You hoped to please me,” he said.

“Yes,” Jared replied, grabbing up his wine again as he felt another bout of nerves. “I wanted to make a good impression. Is it working?”

Jensen’s silverware clattered against his plate. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” Jared’s heart fluttered. It wasn’t a no, and that was definitely progress, he thought.

Jensen favored Jared with another small smile that Jared couldn’t help but answer. “Perhaps.”

Jensen turned his attention back to the meal, still enigmatic but more open in a small way, and Jared added away the moment to his slowly growing treasure of memories. He dedicated the rest of the dinner hour to seeing how much more he could uncover of Jensen.

* * *

The leafy branches of the garden trees spread out above them, enveloping them in a green cocoon. The flowers were in full bloom, peppering the grounds with vivid spots of varying shades of red, yellow, orange, blue, and purple. Here and there, were sections of pure white that seemed to draw Jensen’s eye the most during their walk. Jared made a mental note of that as they continued on their conversation from dinner. He would be sure and have a dozen of the white flowers sent to Jensen’s room later in the evening. It would be a good way to end the day.

Earlier, they’d talked of horses and sailing and Jensen’s conversation had been so pleasant, that Jared had been loathe to say good night. He’d invited his fiancé on a walk along the stonework paths of the royal gardens, taking him deep into the tree-lined corridors until they reached neared the central courtyard, with the pleasing sound of the large fountain just up ahead.

“Redding’s gardens are not so…” Jensen lapsed into a momentary silence, looking for a certain word, and finally he settled on “extravagant.” Once again, he regarded a bed of the white flowers. Jared would have to find out what they were called and ask the gardeners to plant more.

“Is this a good or a bad thing?” Jared asked, daring a small touch of Jensen’s arm. Jensen glanced at him and offered a smile before turning away to consider the trees. He seemed to like the plum ones best. 

Jensen ran his hand under one of the hanging branches, letting the leaves trail against his skin. “Both have their charms.”

Filled with a sudden daring, Jared hooked his index finger around Jensen’s. “You are welcome to walk in the gardens whenever you choose,” he said, already making plans. “I will have—” Either the touch or the words had been a mistake as Jensen pulled away and the pleasant openness of before was sealed behind a solid wall. 

“I have noticed that the gardens are within the sphere of which I am permitted to travel,” Jensen said coldly, moving towards the trees.

Jared winced, and felt a touch of shame for allowing a leash to be put upon his future spouse. He would tell Roger first thing in the morning that it was unacceptable. Jared had done poorly by Jensen. He needed to remedy it. “From this point on, you have free rein to go where you choose in Starfall.” He stepped towards Jensen, his hand at his heart to show his sincerity. “You have my deepest apologies, for this has hardly been a way to treat an honored guest.” Roger couldn’t possibly expect to still keep Jensen caged once he and Jared were married. Starfall was to be Jensen’s home; right now, it must have felt more like a prison to Jensen, despite its wonders. “I am sorry that this has colored your first experience of Starfall. Perhaps I could give you a tour tomorrow? Wherever you would like.”

Jensen shook his head and Jared’s heart sank. “Though we would both like to pretend otherwise, you and I both know that I am not your guest, nor am I here due to my own choice.” Jensen glanced back at the guards that waited in the shadows to emphasize his point. They had been assigned to follow Jensen since the day he had arrived.

Jared scowled at the guards. Surely, they could do a better job of making themselves unobtrusive. Then again, that was a servant’s domain. Soldiers were far more used to making a solid impression that made possible opponents think twice before making a move. They were, however, unavoidable at the moment. In a week or so, maybe Roger would relax enough to call off Jensen’s escort, but so far Roger had refused to entertain any such notion as trusting Jensen. Jared could likely convince Roger to give Jensen unrestricted access but he doubted that he’d be able to convince the man that Jensen didn’t need to be escorted just quite yet. “I had hoped that things might be better between us,” he said apologetically, lightly touching Jensen’s arm again. 

Jensen pulled a leaf off a nearby tree and studied it. “You wish to continue what was started in the training area.” His voice was noncommittal, as if it weren’t like an asp waiting inside a basket. The leaf was meticulously shredded in Jensen’s hands, betraying his agitation.

“No, I do not,” Jared said and waited for Jensen to finally lift his eyes back up to Jared’s. He knew what Jensen thought of what had happened in the training area and though Jared might wish very much for a repeat performance, he didn’t want to give Jensen the wrong impression. “I wish to start, perhaps, our courtship.” Their union had already been decided but there was nothing stopping them from enjoying each other’s company until then.

“I see.” A bitter smile twisted Jensen’s lips. “You needn’t bother. You have my word that I will do as you ask.” He dropped the remains of the mutilated leaf to the stones of the path. “If that’s what you want, perhaps we should start now.” As Jared took a moment to think, wondering how to respond, Jensen unbuckled the clasp of his vest and slipped it from his shoulders. Jared’s mouth went dry even as a sick feeling twisted in his gut. This was what he’d wanted and yet it wasn’t. The circumstances were wrong. Jensen let the vest drop to the ground and started in on the ties of his shirt.

Jared stopped him, covering Jensen’s hand with his own. “I think there might be a misunderstanding.” 

Jensen raised his eyebrows. “I do not think so.” Jared could feel the steady thump of Jensen’s heart beneath their hands and felt his own answer in kind. Jensen was warm, solid, and tempting. 

Jared forced himself to pull away, not wishing for Jensen to misunderstand the situation. Stooping, he scooped up Jensen’s vest and pushed it into Jensen’s arms. Jared needed the man to have more clothes on. “Then we must differ on the meaning of courtship, Jensen, for this sort of play generally comes later.”

“And I told you that you needn’t bother.” Jensen yanked the strings of his shirt, opening it wide and baring his chest to Jared once again. Jared’s eyes devoured the sight before he forced himself to look away. “I will do as you ask. I will satisfy you.” It was an alluring offer, even with the ice in Jensen’s voice.

“Perhaps I wish to wait until the wedding night,” Jared replied, summoning what limited control he still possessed when being faced with the possibility of bedding Jensen.

“Wedding night?” Jensen repeated, his voice rising with disbelief. “What wedding?”

“Courtships usually end in weddings,” Jared responded. “And ours is scheduled for late August.” There was an angry flush rising in Jensen’s cheeks and his fists were clenched like they wished to be holding a sword instead of empty air.

“You think that we are going to marry?” Jensen demanded. “In less than three months?”

Jared was confused. This had all been agreed upon when King Alan had agreed to the terms of the treaty. “Yes?”

“Then this is why I am here.” Jensen closed his shirt over his chest, the laces hanging uselessly as he did not take the time to rethread them. “For you to marry.”

“I thought that you’d agreed to this.” Jared had been under the impression that the terms had been agreed upon by all of the involved parties. He should have known better. Roger was right about his naivety. 

“Did my father know of this?” Jensen swung his vest around his shoulders and roughly redid the clasps. His earlier offer to please Jared was apparently off the table.

“Didn’t your father tell you?” 

“He’d told me—” Jensen cut himself off and then started again, his body rigid and his eyes fixed on a point above Jared’s shoulder. “He told me that you meant for me to decorate your court.”

Of course that’s what Jensen’s father would say. That even may be, indeed, how King Alan viewed the potential match. “While your beauty outshines any jewel I may own,” Jared said, “I did hope that you would be an equal partner in our union and not a mere possession.” When Jensen didn’t respond, Jared felt compelled to clarify. “I had hoped that you would rule beside me.”

Jensen turned to look off into the garden, scanning the shadows. “And what of my choice?”

“I thought that you’d agreed,” Jared said, echoing his earlier comment. It was hardly a defense but it was all that he had. He _had_ thought that Jensen had agreed to the match. “My advisors had wanted to exact a steeper price for peace from Redding. They thought a royal consort might be payment enough.”

“So that I could be used as a political pawn,” Jensen hissed.

“I would think that you would be too strong to be used as a pawn,” Jared told him, deciding that straightforward honesty would be best. “And I do not care about why they agreed, Jensen. They are not the ones that I am marrying, nor are they marrying you. I wanted someone to share my crown with me as my equal.” If Jared had wanted a pawn to play with, he would have married Lady Kylie from the rich islands to the south long ago. She was beautiful, courteous, and incredibly easy to manipulate.

Jensen wheeled on him. “And if I did agree to this, what could I expect? Them?” he jabbed a finger at the guards still lurking at the courtyard’s edge. “To be followed for the rest of my days and distrusted?”

“No.” Jared turned to the guards, feeling an anger rising in him. He’d told Roger that this would lead to trouble. “Please tell Sir Roger that your services are no longer needed.”

One stepped forward, her hand on her sword. “Sir?”

“I said leave us!” Jared accompanied the order with a hard wave of his hand and one by one the guards bowed and left.

“That was unwise,” Jensen said behind him, his voice a sibilant whisper. “What if I cut you down where you stood?”

Jared turned back to him. “You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Jared narrowed his eyes. “You are a man of honor who has sworn himself to me. You won’t.” Jared might not have known much of Jensen beyond his reputation, but he knew that a man so highly regarded would not take his word so lightly. Jensen had surrendered himself to Jared and that was a vow that Jensen would never break.

“I am a man of Redding,” Jensen said, as if that were any argument at all.

“My point exactly.” Redding warriors never broke their vows. They carried them to their graves.

Taken aback, Jensen paused for a moment. Jared liked to think that somewhere a tally was marked down on an invisible scoreboard. He had managed to make the Dancer of the West Winds stop in mid-charge. Jensen licked his lips, his earlier anger dissipating. “You are very strange for a Milecki.”

“Ah, but all Mileckis are strange. So, perhaps I am merely normal.” Jared accompanied his words with a wink, startling Jensen into a laugh. It was a sound that Jared hoped very much to hear again. 

“Prince Jensen of Redding,” Jared said, attempting to assure Jensen of his intentions, “I would like you to know that I hold you in the highest esteem. There has never been another to which I have held out my hand and my heart because there has never been anyone but you.”

Jensen looked away, embarrassed. He held silent for a long while, and Jared counted the seconds, wishing to give him time. “Milecki is not what I expected it to be,” Jensen eventually admitted.

“Not enough baby-eaters and puppy-kickers?” Jared ventured, already guessing what Milecki’s reputation must be in Redding.

Jensen laughed again, this time for longer, and Jared marked another tally down on his mental scoreboard. “No,” he said. “You must be hiding them somewhere.”

“Yes. We keep them in the dungeons when we have company. How did you know?” Jared touched Jensen again, this time daring to take his hand. Jensen glanced downward and considered the liberty that Jared had taken, and Jared held his breath, wondering if perhaps he had overstepped his bounds and pushed Jensen too far. After a few painful moments, however, Jensen not only allowed the contact, but also wrapped his fingers around Jared’s, reciprocating the touch. The contact set Jared’s blood on fire as surely as a kiss. There was something incredibly intimate about twining his hand with Jensen’s. Jared gave Jensen’s hand a squeeze. “I will admit that I have been looking forward to our wedding,” he confessed. “My advisors have told that I have not been acting very kingly.”

“No?”

“No.” Jared smiled. “They tend to frown on excited bouncing. It doesn’t do much for my reputation.”

Jensen licked his lips, drawing Jared’s attention instantly to his mouth. He wanted to chase Jensen’s tongue with his own. “I imagine that it does not.” Jensen brought their joined hands upward and took a shaky breath. “In three months, it has been decided that we will be wed.” Jared nodded, rubbing his thumb over Jensen’s skin. He was taking all sorts of liberties tonight. “I know next to nothing about you. And that which I thought I knew has proven to be largely inaccurate.”

“I hate accounting meetings but secretly enjoy parades, but only when I don’t have to be in them.” Jared squeezed Jensen’s hand again. “And I find you so beautiful that sometimes I wonder how the gods made something so perfect.” Jensen laughed in embarrassment, his eyes sliding away from Jared’s. Jared dared a step closer. “I also enjoyed watching you demonstrate your skills in the training area. I felt proud that you were to be mine as I have never seen your equal.”

“You should see Yveny,” Jensen muttered. “He is much better than me.” Yveny, Jared knew, was one of the Damascus monks and the East to Jensen’s West. Jensen raised his free hand and trailed his fingertips over where he and Jared were joined. Jared shivered. “Until this point,” Jensen said, his words coming slow as if he had to inspect each one before they could be uttered, “I might have resented that morning in the training area.” Jared’s heart gave a painful squeeze in his chest. It was as he had feared, then. “For you were better than I had expected you to be and I was…attracted. I did not want to be attracted to one that I regarded as my enemy.”

Jared searched Jensen’s face, looking for a bit of hope. “And now?” He tried not to betray his apprehension, but it seemed as if his entire future hung upon Jensen’s answer.

The edges of Jensen’s mouth quirked upward. “Now, I may wish to have a rematch.”

Jared swiftly kissed the hand that Jensen had joined with his. “Tomorrow morning, if you wish. I will not guarantee any success against your skill, but I will promise the best of my ability.” He would most likely end up on his ass in the dirt, but he would be smiling as if the sun was shining just for him.

“Tomorrow morning,” Jensen repeated, his head nodding as a smile grew on his face.

“Tomorrow morning.” Jared felt like a foolish echo, but he didn’t particularly care at the moment. He glanced around the garden, at the dark, shadow-filled trees and the trickling fountain. It was late. The sun would rise in only a few short hours but yet the time seemed to stretch out in front of Jared, propelled by his own excitement. “May I walk you back to your room?

Jensen looked at the same places that Jared had before coming back to Jared. “Is this a dangerous area?”

Jared nodded solemnly. “I hear that there is a strange man that sometimes prowls these paths looking to molest handsome princes and drag them into the bushes to be properly ravished.”

Another surprised peal of Jensen’s laughter rang out across the gardens. “And you will protect me from this man?”

“To the very best of my ability,” Jared promised.

* * *

The faint light of dawn stained the courtyard, setting the various practice swords a glow. Here and there, young squires bustled between doorways, anticipating the needs of still sleeping knights. Jared recognized Oliver who was apprenticed to Sir Samuel and Lily who waited upon Sir Kendra. Some were still too young for him to have met, the look of childhood still clinging to their cheeks.

“Your Majesty?” Jared turned and nodded to Peter. Peter blinked slowly, taking his time to work out the math. “Are we getting another show today?”

A part of Jared wanted to tell Peter no, that Jensen’s displays were for him alone—and if alone, maybe the passion of battle would blossom to something else—but a more rational side won out. “If we are truly lucky.”

Peter shook his head. “Luck has nothing to do with it, my King.” He grinned. “Only skill.”

“So you tell me and yet here I wait.”

“Oh, not for long, I imagine.” Peter nodded at the figure that was leaning against one of the veranda’s support posts. Jensen’s arms were crossed and he was staring steadily across the field at Jared. His former entourage was nowhere to be found. Jared started.

“Has he been there long?” he whispered.

“As long as you have,” Peter confirmed. He gave Jared a friendly nudge. “Skill, Sire. It’s all skill.” Jared shoved him off and strode across the yard to the training area.

“I hope you slept well?”

Jensen nodded, moving to join Jared on the field. “You are early.”

“And so are you.”

Smiling, Jensen tossed him a wooden sword. “Then we may begin.”

Jared tested it out, finding it marginally acceptable. He slipped down in a prepared pose, his sword at the ready. 

Jensen didn’t immediately follow suit, instead standing straight and pointing his sword at the ground. He bowed forward. “May your sword hold true and bring you unending glory and honor.”

Another Redding ritual, Jared guessed, but one he didn’t know. He mimicked Jensen’s earlier pose, standing upright with his sword pointing downward. Not knowing if he was meant to repeat Jensen’s phrase or say something else, he looked helplessly at Jensen.

“Honor to the worthy opponent. May your sword bring you the favor of the gods,” Jensen said and Jared repeated the phrase, bowing as he had seen Jensen do. The ritual completed, Jensen brought his sword up and stepped into battle, bending his knees and holding his body loose. A grin spread across his face.

Jared echoed him and they circled each other, waiting to see who would strike first.

Jensen struck, his sword rapidly stabbing toward Jared with a small flick of his wrist. Jared dodged to the side and the blade missed him only by inches. Jensen was not compliantly waiting this time. It was exhilarating. 

Jared gave a return swing and Jensen countered it with a hard clack of their swords, then spun to slice at Jared’s mid-section. Jared jumped back, then retook the ground with a powerful overhand strike. Jensen rolled, cat-like and ended behind Jared, giving him a whack on his unprotected backside.

“Ow!” Jared yelled, stumbling away. He rubbed the new sore spot as Jensen grinned at him. “That’s how it’s going to be, is it?” Jensen beckoned him forward with a hand. Jared took a few more moments to let the sting fade. “I’ll be watching for that now.” He lunged at Jensen, sending him dancing away, and countered Jensen’s next few strikes. Each time Jensen spun around him, Jared tried his damnedest to follow. Their swords met again then they mutually dodged and broke apart before coming back together.

When the next blow landed, they were both breathing hard, though Jensen appeared to be doing marginally better than Jared felt, getting himself back under control with only a few short pants. The flat of the sword hit hard across Jared’s backside again and Jared nearly ate the dirt. He hissed rubbing at what he was sure was going to be a truly impressive welt.

Around him, there was a collective gasp of shock and Jared noticed for the first time that Jensen and he had drawn an audience—and a large one at that. Jared ignored them. He shook his hands out and pushed the hair out of his eyes. “Is this what I can expect from you after we are wed?” he asked and Jensen chuckled.

“If you don’t like it, stop leaving yourself so open.”

“Who said that I didn’t like it?” Jensen’s next breath was audible and Jared grinned. “Just maybe not with a wooden paddle.”

While Jensen was still processing Jared’s little confession, Jared struck out, landing a glancing blow on Jensen’s torso. “Gotcha.”

Jensen stood fully upright, feeling the spot with a hand. His eyes met Jared’s and Jared’s knees tried to buckle. There was heat and intent in Jensen’s gaze, setting Jared’s inner fantasies aflame.

Jensen moved, his sword arcing forward like a striking snake and Jared scarcely managed to block it before Jensen swung again, coming in from the right, then the left followed by a forward jab.

The end result had been a foregone conclusion but it was still a shock when the sword left Jared’s hands, flying off into the crowd again. Jared remained on his feet, but just barely. Jensen’s sword whipped around again, stopping just inches from Jared’s neck. Jared lifted his head, indicating his surrender as he panted.

Jensen’s sword clattered to the ground and his hands grabbed a hold of Jared’s face on both sides. He pulled Jared in for a kiss, proclaiming his victory. Exhausted, Jared leaned into him, steadying himself on Jensen’s arms. The kiss was wet and dominating and Jared gave himself over to it.

They broke apart, gasping for air, and Jared leaned his forehead against Jensen’s. Behind him, there was a slow clapping. Jared held his fingers up in an obscene gesture, knowing that it was Peter without even seeing him. How was that for skill?

* * *

The days passed by in a blur for Jared, though he was unsure if that was due more to the hectic bustle of the wedding plans or the general daze that Jensen’s mere presence inspired in him. Just being around Jensen made the hours seem to pass by more quickly than they should have.

In between their morning workouts (“In more ways than one!” Peter had said), and lengthy strolls, they were slowly getting to know one another but Jared still thought that a lifetime would not be enough to know Jensen.

Jensen, as it turned out, thought as much about the wedding planning as Jared did. Which was to say not at all because everything from the table settings to the flowers were being handled by Evelyn and her veritable army of helpers. The only input that Jared had given was to make sure that the flowers were white and Jensen had mentioned a liking to the pudding that the cook made, so it had been added to the menu.

The Grand Bishop was to officiate their wedding in the great hall and Jared was only required to show up and repeat what the Bishop told him to. Jared hated big productions. He was always pushed front and center and didn’t have a clue what to do half the time. Should he wave? Make a speech and if so, about what? At least this time, his appearance was to be scripted.

The court was all a buzz again, the lords and ladies zipping to and fro, making their plans and scheming to get better seats.

It really was no wonder that Jared decided to up and disappear one day. Roger had harped on him for nearly two hours afterward, but Jared still thought that it had been worth it. He had kidnapped Jensen from the day, luring him out to the stables. 

It was the first time that Jared had ever been jealous of a horse for Jensen had cooed over his black steed like a proud mother, checking over every inch and petting him with gentle soothing strokes before finally allowing him to be saddled.

Jared had mounted his own horse and they’d left Starfall through a sidegate.

Jensen had been suitably amazed at the monastery and the great fountain. It was the marketplace, though, that had really caught his eye.

“How can there be so many people in one single place?” Jensen had said, more to himself than anything. “There’s…there’s a country here. Right here.”

Jared had grinned at him. “Every day.” The marketplaces of Milecki were known far and wide for a reason. Anything that one could possibly imagine could be found in the market stalls: silks from the East and ivory from the westward plains, pearls from the coastal islands and tiny, chittering creatures that one could buy for two gold pieces. As wonderous as it all was, however, Jared thought that it was the girl that had truly amazed Jensen.

She had been small, under the age of 10, certainly, and she had rushed directly up to them with no fear whatsoever to hand Jensen a white flower. “For the Royal Consort,” she had said with a smile and then dashed away back into the thick folds of the crowd.

“I…” Jensen stared down at the flower in his hand. “She gave me a flower.”

Jared nodded. “The people of Milecki have accepted you as one of their own.”

“But how…?”

“News of the upcoming wedding has been circulating the city rumor mills since the treaty was signed.” Jared shrugged. There was only so much secrecy he could keep when formal traditions dictated the involvement of multiple parties during official state affairs.

“I was truly the last person on Earth to know of my own wedding.” 

Jared plucked the flower from Jensen’s hand and tucked it behind his ear for safe-keeping. “At least you found out before the ceremony. Now, that might have been a shock.”

Jensen huffed a laugh and followed Jared through the sea of humanity that was the first ward of the Milecki Markets.

* * *

The bells tolled the hour, ringing out across the city streets, and Jared smoothed his palms on his heavy robes, surreptitiously wiping the sweat from his palms. He wished that he could do the same with the rest of his body. He was nearly roasting under the acres of fabric he’d been forced into. When the bells finished, he held his arm out for the Grand Bishop to bind to Jensen’s. “Let these two souls be forever entwined in the eyes of the gods and may fortune favor their union,” the Bishop intoned, his voice booming through the great hall. His voice hadn’t changed over the past hour that Jared had been standing before him. Jared suspected that the Grand Bishop wasn’t human. Any normal person would have been hoarse by now.

Across from him, Jensen smiled reassuringly and Jared took a deep breath and smiled back. It could be worse, he supposed. Jensen was back in his heavy black armor and he had to be melting in the heat. They only had a half hour at most, even if the Grand Bishop decided to draw out the moment. Then, they would of course, be expected to attend the banquet and entertain an entire court full of would-be jesters. On the bright side, they would also be allowed to leave early. Though, now that Jared thought about it, that made him nervous as well.

The ropes tightened on his arm and the Bishop said a few more chants. “You are now forever bound, in this life and the next. May the gods smile upon you.” As Roger stepped forward, Jared slid his eyes over to Jensen, watching for his reaction for what came next.

Roger produced the blade that would cut the joined binding and end the ceremony. Traditional ceremonies usually used a small knife that the bride would then keep. It didn’t have to be small, however, nor did it have to be a knife. Jensen’s eyes widened at the sight of the sword that he had surrendered to Jared just a few short months ago.

The sword had always been as much a part of Jensen’s legend as the hand that wielded it. Such a blade, crafted of a metal harder than steel, was created only by the monks of Damascus and gifted only to the Dancers of the Winds. There, truly, was no other sword for Jensen, nor had Jared had any doubt which blade he would like to honor his wedding.

Roger drew the blade from its ornate sheath, holding it aloft for the assembled crowd to see. He touched it to the rope and the blade sliced through as cleanly as through butter. Roger resheathed the weapon and reversed it to hand it to Jared. Jared took it reverently, holding it with careful hands. He knelt and held the sword out to Jensen.

“Let this blade symbolize your union,” the Grand Bishop said. “Let its strength give you strength and long may you live.”

Jensen slowly reached out and let his fingers slide over the sword, first tracing the length of the sheathe, then swirling his fingers around the lion crest before finally grasping the hilt, lifting it from Jared’s hands. “I accept take this as my own,” he said. “I accept this offering and find it pleasing.”

Jared rose and sealed their union with a kiss.

* * *

_One year later…_

Jared awoke to lips kissing their way across his neck and a strong hand sliding up his thigh. His eyes snapped open in the darkness. “Jensen?”

“Mmm,” was his answer and the lips moved to his mouth so a tongue could lick inside. Jared groaned. His arms wrapped around the solid weight above him and pulled it closer to grind against the length of Jensen’s body. His hands met nothing but skin and muscle and Jared shivered. Jensen must have undressed before, standing before the bed, planning his attack as he prepared. Their mouths parted, allowing Jared a moment to breathe. He sucked at the air, feeling as if Jensen had stolen every breath in his body with a single kiss. “My king,” Jensen murmured, his mouth moving back to the sensitive areas of Jared’s neck.

With a sudden surge of strength, catching Jensen off-guard, Jared rolled them both, putting Jensen onto his back and settling between the welcoming embrace of his thighs. In the darkness, Jared could see little beyond the glitter of Jensen’s eyes when they caught the starlight filtering into the room and the vague curve of Jensen’s smile. “When did you get back?” Jared asked. Jensen had been gone for a week now, running off the bandits in the borderlands.

“Now,” Jensen replied and pulled Jared down for another kiss. He arched up into Jared’s body, rubbing himself against Jared shamelessly. Jensen, Jared had quickly found out, for all his properness and honor, was wanton when presented with need. Jared’s hips moved of their own accord, finding a quiet rhythm that momentarily pleased them both. Jensen moaned into the kiss, his hands burying in Jared’s hair to control the angle and to keep Jared in place for as long as Jensen wished.

When they parted once more, they were both out of breath. Jared studied Jensen’s shadowed face as best as he was able, looking for any sign of an injury. He saw the white flash of Jensen’s teeth and felt the rumble of Jensen’s laugh echoing through his chest. “I am fine,” Jensen assured him and tried to pull him down for another kiss.

“I wish that you would let the soldiers take care of the border disputes,” Jared said. It was a familiar argument. They’d had it a week previously and every time Jensen had left before that.

Jensen sighed. “And I will,” he promised. “When the task force is trained. I do not wish for any lives to be lost when there is a possibility that they can be saved.”

Jared gave him the point. There was no better one better suited in all of Jared’s kingdom to save lives with his skill in battle. That didn’t mean, however, that he had to like the idea of his husband deliberately placing himself in danger. It only meant that he was married to one of the Dancers of Damascus, whose sworn duty was to protect and preserve life through the application of their art, something Jensen had informed him of the first time that Jared had objected at Jensen leaving the palace. Jensen was already compromising with Jared by training the task force and Jared simply had to accept that.

“If you promise me that you are unharmed, I will welcome you back.”

A hand wrapped around Jared’s cock and Jared jerked to the side in surprise. “As long as you promise _me_ that you are up to the task of welcoming me back properly.” 

Jensen’s thumb rubbed the length of Jared and Jared groaned, dropping his head against Jensen’s shoulder. “You will be the death of me,” he muttered. He needn’t worry about Jensen’s possible death in battle—Jared would be long dead before him, having been slain in bed by Jensen’s skilled hands.

Jensen laughed quietly and eased Jared forward, pulling him along until Jared slipped inside warm, slick heat. Jared gasped. “You are…”

“Mmm. I prepared myself as I watched you earlier, thinking of this moment.” Jensen pressed his body downward, forcing Jared more fully inside of him.

Evil. Pure evil. “Why rob me of that sight?” Jared demanded. Preparing Jensen, watching the proud warrior squirm on probing fingers, was one of Jared’s greatest joys in life. Jensen loved to have things inside of him—whether it be Jared’s fingers or cock or tongue—and Jared loved to watch Jensen enjoy them.

Jensen laughed. “Because I was impatient.” He swiftly rolled them, pushing Jared onto his back and settling his weight overtop of Jared’s hips. Jared’s mouth opened and his eyes fluttered closed as the whole of him was pushed inside of Jensen. “Now be quiet and let me ride you.” He began to rock his hips, slow, maddening little circles.

Letting Jensen ride him was no hardship, but Jared knew that he had no hope of being quiet. He didn’t bother to try and hold back the little sounds that Jensen drew out of him. His hands gripped Jensen’s hips, reaffirming their perfect fit and then slid upwards, skimming over Jensen’s lean sides and muscled chest. Jensen caught them both, holding them in place over his heart with one hand.

Jensen caught his bottom lip with his teeth, worrying it like he sometimes did when he was focusing. Jared’s breath caught in his throat and he bucked upwards, causing Jensen to chuckle. “Patience,” Jensen told him, running a gentling hand over Jared’s stomach.

“Any longer and I will die of sheer need,” Jared growled.

“But what a death!” Jensen’s voice had a breathless quality that let Jared know that his torment was almost at an end as Jensen was reaching the limit of his tolerance for the slow and gentle pace. Jared eased a hand out of Jensen’s grasp and rubbed his palm over Jensen’s flexing stomach. Some days he still couldn’t believe that he was allowed to touch—that maybe it was all just a vivid dream to have this wild, wanton, god-like creature in his bed.

Jared dared to move his hand lower and Jensen gasped. “Cheater,” he whispered as Jared encased his thick cock in a firm grip.

“Exploiting a weakness,” Jared shot back and gave Jensen a solid pump that had him jerking forward with a hiss. Jensen had always said that a good warrior used anything and everything at his disposal. _Fight to win._

“Fair enough,” Jensen panted. He leaned backward, bracing himself on Jared’s legs, and let his mouth drop open as a visible shiver shook him. He moaned, arching his body to bring himself down on one particular spot again and again.

Jared was fast approaching orgasm, spurred along by Jensen’s tight heat and the sight of Jensen taking as he pleased. Every muscle was tightening up in preparation. Jared fought it back, wanting to last for Jensen.

Jensen rocked forward, his mouth open, his eyes squeezed shut. His back arched and he shuddered through his orgasm, spilling into Jared’s waiting hand and onto his chest, as he clenched down on Jared’s cock. He hung there, suspended for long seconds, and scarcely even seemed to breathe. Then, with a shuddering sigh, he lowered himself back down and his eyes fluttered open. He smiled down at Jared. “Mmm.” His hand ran through the mess he had made of Jared’s chest, rubbing it onto Jared’s skin, claiming Jared as his own in a primitive, primal way. Jared closed his eyes.

“Ready?” Jensen asked him and began to move again. Jared didn’t bother to last. Within seconds, he was bucking upward and emptying himself into Jensen’s body. Jensen rocked downward, firmly seating himself, and held Jared down as he spasmed through his orgasm. 

When Jared was done, Jensen gave him a few more moments and let sat up, letting Jared slide limply from his body. He moved to Jared’s left and settled down beside him.

“So,” Jared said when he finally had the breath to do so. “Welcome back.”

Jensen chuckled and gave him a lingering kiss. “Almost as if I’d never left.”

“Almost.” Jared had been by himself for a week and after finally managing to win the proud Prince Jensen, he hardly wanted to go a day without seeing Jensen’s face. “I missed you.”

“Mmm.” Jensen ran a finger over Jared’s lips and tucked his head against Jared’s shoulder. “You should rest.”

“And why is that?” Jared smoothed his hand over Jensen’s cheek, sliding backwards to cup his head.

“Because tomorrow you have to get up early and train with me,” was the sleepy reply and Jared mock scowled.

“I take it back. I didn’t miss you at all.”

Jensen gave him a consoling pat. “And if you wake earlier enough, maybe I’ll be able to show you how much I missed you, too.”

“You should have led with that.” Jensen chuckled and Jared closed his eyes. As always when he was with Jensen, the hours flew by quicker than they should have.


End file.
